


skeletons in the closet

by CaptainOzone



Series: Batfam Week 2018 [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Batfam Week 2018, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Drunken Confessions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jason is a good brother, Past Dick Grayson/Koriand'r
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-19 04:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15501981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOzone/pseuds/CaptainOzone
Summary: Jason had every intention of having a relaxing night. Of course all his plans are ruined after Golden Boy decides to break down and drink himself into oblivion.(Jason sure as hell didn't ask to get stuck with this responsibility but damn if he isn't going to see it through).Chapter One: Written for Day 2 of Batfam Week 2018 (Trapped).Chapter Two: Written for Day 6 of Batfam Week 2018 (Hurt/Comfort).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that there are references to past rape, as well as plenty of blatantly unhealthy coping mechanisms and descriptions of very bad headspace/possible mental health issues, woven into this fic.
> 
> Rated M for above warnings and Jason's profanity.
> 
> Also, I somehow managed to write this in a few hours, which is WILD and not very typical of me, so excuse my mistakes. This is unbeta'd.

“Hood?” 

Jason nearly growled at the sound of Oracle’s voice in his ear. He should have known it was too good to be true. He’d only recently been included in the Bats’ patrol schedule, and that was only after receiving a promise that he’d be available in a limited capacity _only_. He had his own team to lead, too, after all, and he wanted the acknowledgement he was due. He’d gotten it from Batman, much to his surprise, and things had been going relatively well. Until now, apparently. Tonight was supposed to be one of his nights off, from both his team and Bruce’s.

(Ha. As if there was ever such a thing as a _night off_ in their line of work. Who was he kidding).

He was supposed to be doing a relaxing, routine patrol of Crime Alley—on his own terms, mind you—and hadn’t had any other expectations from the Family _or_ the Outlaws tonight, so needless to say, he wasn’t particularly pleased to be called in.

Unable to temper the annoyance from his voice, he grunted, “ _Here_.”

Barbara was silent for a moment, and it was so atypical that Jason had the sense that something was _really_ wrong. He wasn’t so much of a dick that he couldn’t appreciate an emergency, or a dire situation, for what it was. All irritation fled his body, and he braced himself for bad news. “Talk to me, O,” he said immediately.

“...I’m going to need you to pick up your brother.”

In any other instance, he would have been grumbling about playing chauffeur for the little ones, but her voice didn’t sound quite right to his ears. “Which one?” he asked, hesitant.

“Nightwing.”

Jason’s heart plummeted, and it had nothing to do with his grapple swing. He landed on a rooftop and paused, poised to run in the direction Barbara indicated. No wonder Barbie sounded so shaken. Dick was _her_ Robin, and perhaps something more. She couldn’t always keep her cool where he was involved, especially now that she and Dick were supposedly on again. “Where?” he demanded.

“He’s not hurt, Hood,” Barbara was quick to assure. “But I have to warn you. He’s...compromised.”

Jason froze, and the tension bled from his shoulders. “Jesus, O. You had me thinking some serious shit was going down.”

“Some serious shit _is_ going down,” Barbara deadpanned. “But not your typical Bat shit.”

“Alright,” Jason snapped, already beyond frustrated by her uncharacteristic evasion. “What the hell is going on?”

“Nightwing went dark approximately thirty-six hours ago,” Babs explained. “Without warning. I just found him. In civvies.”

“And? It’s not exactly uncommon for us to go underco—”

“He’s a danger to himself,” Barbara interrupted. “And maybe others.”

Jason still wasn’t following. “Golden Boy can take care of himself, I’m sure. He’s fine.”

“He’s drunk off his ass, Hood.” 

Jason absorbed that for a moment before bursting into incredulous laughter. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me? Screw this. He can call an Uber just as well as any other guy can. Hell, _you_ could do that for him if you’re so concerned. Get off my comm.”

“Jason.”

 _No names in the field_ , he nearly said, an instinctive and mortifying response, considering it was the one _Bruce_ would use in such a situation.

He took a deep breath and held it, taking a moment to reassess. The fact she was using his name meant he should be taking this a little more seriously than he was. He sighed. “Why me?”

“Because Dick’s not answering me, and I know he’d rather die than let Bruce or Alfred see him like this.”

“And Tim or Cass can’t do this because...?”

“Tim and Cass are still underage, and besides, do you _really_ want the kids to see him like this either? He needs help, Jason. Please?”

Yikes. A cry for help _and_ a please? Dickiebird must be really bad off. “Alright, fine,” he relented. “I’ll get him.”

“You’re a good brother, Jay,” Barbara said, obvious relief in her voice, and proceeded to tell him Dick’s current location.

~...~

Jason found Dick in _The Pig’s Sty,_ a seedy little bar on Gotham’s most notorious strip of dive bars _,_ slumped over the counter, holding onto it for dear life. He looked like shit, clothes easily a day and a half old, rumpled and stained, his hair a wild mess. He was a walking disaster, but he still managed to turn on the charm with his broad, easy smile and puppy dog pout. When Jason entered the bar, he quickly learned Dick was pouting because the bartender, who looked as though she was seconds from slitting Dick’s throat herself, insisted (probably not for the first time) she was cutting him off.

“C’mooooonnnn,” Dick slurred, sing-song’ing his words. He could barely keep his eyes open, and Jason was entranced because he’d _never_ seen Dick this drunk before. Never. “Jus’ one more? M’money’s good for iiiiit.”

He almost heaved right there, pitching forward into the bar, and Jason decided he’d seen enough.

“Alright,” Jason said, sliding into the barstool next to Dick and steadying him before he could fuck up his face against the worn wood. “I think you’re done, bro.”

The bartender looked relieved, and Dick, eyes feverish and bright, turned to him. “Jay!” he exclaimed brightly. “Baby brofferrrrr!”

He launched himself toward Jason for a hug but miscalculated the distance. Jason was glad he was already bracing the guy because otherwise, Dick would have dove right off his stool and onto the gross floor. Might’ve even knocked a few teeth out, too, had he landed the wrong way.

“Jaybirb?” Dick asked, looking up at him and blinking in confusion. His vision was spinning, clearly, because his head was moving in tandem, looking as though it were attached to an elastic neck. “When’d’ya ge’here?”

“Wow,” was all Jason had to say in response to that. He looked to the bartender and asked, “He have a tab I need to take care of?”

She shook her head. “To be honest, he overpaid.”

Jason quirked a brow. “And you didn’t assume it was your tip?” he asked. Because come on, what bartender in their right mind would...?

The girl folded her arms, sniffing, as though personally offended by the insinuation. Impressed, Jason took note of her name, purely out of professional curiosity. Andrea. He tucked it away for later consideration. Red Hood might have use for someone like her. “No one would tip me _that_ much. I’ve got some honor, you know. I’ve been holding onto the change for someone more...responsible to—”

“Keep it,” Jason said and had to turn away to catch Dick again. He was beginning to slide bonelessly off of his chair. His head lolled onto Jason’s shoulder, and Jason rolled his eyes as Dick murmured nonsense into his ear. “Serves this dipshit right.”

“Jayyyy,” Dick admonished, giggling. “Langwish.”

Oh my fucking _God._ Barbara owed him one for this. She owed him _big time_. He did not sign up to get stuck here, dealing with a drunk Dick Grayson, but he’d really underestimated how _trashed_ the man was. There was no way he’d be able to leave him alone now, not without ensuring he didn’t die choking on his own vomit in the middle of the night.

What fun. 

“Is there anything else I need to know?” he asked Andrea.

“Jayyyy.”

Jason ignored the nuisance in his ear.

“He’s obviously been bar-hopping,” Andrea said unhelpfully. “No idea how many he had in him before he got here. The guy can hold his liquor pretty well.”

“Jaaaaayyyy,” Dick said again.

“Shut up, dickface,” he muttered back. “Andrea, thanks for putting up with this sorry excuse for a—”

“ _Jaaaaaayyyy_.”

“ _What_ , Dick?”

“’mnotfeelin’sogood.”

“Shit,” he said, and without batting an eye, he had Dick up on his feet, arm draped over his shoulder. “We’re probably going to need a glass of water,” he said casually.

Jason had never seen a bartender move so fast. Andrea was there and back in a flash, holding a glass out to him.

“Thanks,” he said, and taking the glass, he bolted as fast as he could, dragging Dick along across the dance floor, past the bouncers, and out into the cool night air.

He was just in time. Dick hurled right on the sidewalk, causing gaggles of other nighttime wanderers and partiers who weren’t nearly as drunk to wrinkle their noses and whisper their disapproval. Jason maneuvered Dick into a more comfortable position and patted him awkwardly on the back as he retched again, growling when he caught sight of a couple laughing their asses off across the street.

“Get lost, assholes!” he shouted in their direction, and Dick moaned beside him. He turned his attention back to him. “You done for now?”

“Yeah,” Dick croaked. “Think’so.”

“Alright. Drink some of this.”

Dick turned his face away and shook his head like a child rejecting kiddie Tylenol. “No.”

“Dick, you are going to fucking drink this or I swear to God I will drop you right here, right now, and leave you to your misery in the middle of the street.”

“Then leave me ‘ere,” Dick mumbled.

Normally, Jason would never even consider giving anyone the option of calling one of his bluffs. He had a reputation to maintain, after all, and his threats and promises were _always_ carried out. It was what made the Red Hood so effective in the field, in both the criminal underworld _and_ the superhero community, though the latter preferred not to admit it.

This time, though, he caught something in Dick’s voice, in his eyes. The man was on this path of self-destruction for a reason, he realized, and that fact alone chilled him to the bone.

Whatever it was that drove Dick Grayson to break...Jason wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Alright, stop your moping, Big Bird. I’m not going to take your shit tonight. Drink the damn water.”

And to his surprise, Dick followed his instructions with nothing more than a grimace.

Jason watched like a hawk as Dick sipped, and once he was satisfied Dick had gotten enough for now, he took the glass away. Dick was still drunk as a skunk, as evidenced by the tearful look he gave Jason as he raised his head. “You’ve gott’n so _big_ , Jay,” he said, squeezing Jason around the middle. “When’d’ya ge’so big?”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason muttered. “Come on, asshole. Let’s get you to the car.”

~...~

Dick threw up twice more on the way to Jason’s closest safe-house, and when he wasn’t hanging his head out of the window of Jason's ’98 Corolla and blowing chunks, he was crying, mumbling incoherent apologies about how he treated Jason before his death, about how he wished he could have been there for him in Ethiopia.

Jason tuned him out after awhile, shushing him every so often and assuring him he _didn’t give a damn about that_ and _why the hell was he bringing it up now, it was_ fine _._ He _was fine_.

It wasn’t until they were inside and Dick was settled on Jason’s lumpy couch, fresh glass of water and old bucket beside him, that shit _really_ hit the fan.

“Haven’ been this fucked up since T'rantula,” Dick mused out of the blue, still looking unsteady even now.

“Oh?” Jason asked, feigning interest. At this point, he figured there was nothing he could do to stop Dick from talking, so he’d sit there and listen. Or sit there and pretend to listen until the other man finally passed out.

“I told her—” Dick blinked and giggled. He placed a finger over Jason’s lips. “Shhh, it’s a secret, Jay, you gotta prom—promish not to say. Shhh.”

“Sure, Dick.”

“I told her no, ya’know, aft’r Blockbuster.”

Jason froze, and he turned slowly toward Dick, disbelief and horror igniting a deep, unfathomable  _rage_.

This was _wrong_. This was...He shouldn’t be the one listening to Dick’s drunk confessions. He shouldn’t be here. Dick would  _never_ admit this to him if he was sober. Shit. Fuck. That _fucking_...

(This was so messed up).

Jason was just jumping to conclusions. He had to be. Dick didn’t mean what he said. He was drunk, so he _must_ mean something else. He _must_ —

“Dick,” Jason started, struggling to keep his tone level.

“I told her—but she did anyway,” Dick said matter-of-factly. “S’not a big deal now. I got off, di’n I? So I must’ve wanted it, right?”

Well, now there was no mistaking what Dick was telling him. None at all. Before he could fully register the green staining his vision, Jason was already surging to his feet, patting around for a gun. “I’m going to fucking _kill_ this bitch,” he snarled. “You didn’t deserve that, Dick. You hear me? It wasn’t your fault. That fucker is gonna—”

“Nooooooo!” Dick exclaimed, and he sloppily lunged for Jason, grabbing onto his t-shirt. “Shhhh. ‘s’a secret, Jay, remember? _Sec_ - _ret_. Y’ _promished_.”

Jason stood stiffly, only lowering his defenses when he saw the clear trust in Dick’s eyes. “Fine,” he said, though it killed him a little inside. “Fine, but I’m not dropping this, Dick. I’m _not._ ”

“’S years 'go,” Dick said, releasing Jason’s shirt. "Let it goooo," he sang, quoting Frozen. Because of course he would. "Let it goooo!" He began to laugh, and it was a dark sound, something that sent further chills down Jason’s spine.

“It’s not funny, Dick,” Jason said sternly, but that only made Dick laugh harder, so hard, in fact, that the man was crying again, hardly able to catch his breath.

And he was full out sobbing by the time he pulled the bucket to him and puked again.

Holy  _shit_ , Jason was totally not equipped to handle this. He praised Babs for her foresight because if he was feeling this out of his depth right now, he was sure the kids would have _freaked_ if they’d been here _._

Because Dick Grayson didn’t crack. It wasn’t in his nature to so much as _bend_ in the face of his worst failures and traumas. If he fell, he always caught himself, swinging back up to greater heights than ever before. Hell, the man was strong enough to shoulder the rest of the family’s hang-ups and nightmares. It was annoying sometimes, but not a single one of them denied Dick Grayson was the safety net they never knew they needed. Or wanted.

It was the first time Jason fully understood that Dick...didn’t _have_ his own Dick Grayson. He had everyone in the damn fucking world as his friend—he had Wally and Babs and Donna and fucking _Superman’s_ ear—but tonight, he’d proven he didn’t have a single person he could turn to for the Big Stuff, the kind of stuff Jason only felt comfortable telling Roy.

The kind of stuff that ate you alive from the inside.

And that, Jason decided, was the fucking saddest thing he’d ever learned in his life.

“N’the only skel’ton in m’closet,” Dick teased weakly, rubbing his blotchy, puffy face. “Gotta Tama—Tamrarean one now too.”

Jason would have laughed at his horrible pronunciation if he wasn’t still battling the embers of his rage and disbelief. He barely dared to ask, but at this point, he knew he _needed_ to. Screw the fact he was taking advantage of the situation and coercing information from Dick when he was so pliable and unguarded. Screw it all. “What do you mean, Dick?” he asked carefully.

“Kori’s gotta kid,” Dick murmured, eyelids fluttering. "Jus' found out."

Jason frowned. “What do you mean, she’s got a kid? What does she have to do with you drinking yourself into a near—”

Then Jason remembered. Before Starfire joined his first team of Outlaws, she’d been _with Dick’s_. The Teen Titans, they called themselves. And she’d been _more_ than a team member, at one point. Far more.

“Her name’s Mar’i,” Dick breathed, his voice barely above a hum. “Mar’i Grayson.”

Jason was about to lose his damn mind. What the hell was going _on._ “Holy _fucking_ shit!” he exclaimed under his breath. “Holy fucking _shit_.”

“Oops,” Dick said, and he patted Jason’s cheek. Or rather, he tried to. He was half asleep and missed, whacking Jason’s neck and chin instead. “Shhh, Jay. Can’tell. N’yet. Don’ wan’ the’thers t’know ‘ma...slut.”

Jason watched incredulously as Dick slumped into the cushions, dead asleep. He had presence of mind to catch the puke bucket before it tumbled out of Dick’s arms and onto the floor, but afterwards, he was fucking useless, his mind whirling, unable to fully comprehend everything Dick had revealed to him.

The words _slut_ and _must’ve wanted it_ ran on repeat in his head, and for the rest of the night, Jason paced the living room, wondering what in the world he was going to do—and _say—_ when Dick woke up.

Because there was no way _in hell_ he was going to let this lie. No fucking way. He might not have asked for this job, and he might have protested every step of the way, but damn if he wasn’t going to _finish_ it.

He’d gotten Dick home safely. He’d watch over him all damn night. And fuck it, he was going to confront Dick tomorrow, raging hangover or not, and show him he couldn’t drink himself into oblivion and dump all his secrets on Jason without facing the consequences.

If that meant having an uncomfortable heart-to-heart? If that meant telling Dick that Barbara most likely knew, too, and that was why she called him? If that meant sitting with Dick until that stubborn asshole knew, beyond all doubt, that he was not to blame for any of the shit he’d kept bottled up inside?  

Well, the fucker practically beggedfor it, hadn’t he?

(Besides, Jason reasoned, Dick would do the same for him, wouldn’t he?)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 6 of Batfam Week 2018: Hurt/Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all the commenters/readers who speculated, asked, or imagined what the "morning-after" would be like: I dedicate this mess to you. I had no idea what I was going to do for the Hurt/Comfort prompt until you guys very kindly asked for more, so thank you! I hope it satisfies your hunger for more Jason-Dick bonding. :)
> 
> Also, I will admit I did zero research for this. I had a grand total of one bad hangover in my entire life, for one, and as far as everything else goes? I don't know what I'm doing. *insert upside down smiley emoji here* If something I wrote is blatantly wrong, or unrealistic, or whatever, please let me know. 
> 
> Timeline? Don't think too hard about where this fits into the timeline. It probably doesn't. I did make Dick 26, though, if you're curious to know.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dick woke up feeling like a rat had died in his mouth.

He groaned, smacking parched lips and regretting everything. Whatever it was that had led him to this moment, Dick decided it wasn’t worth this. Not by a long shot. God, the wildebeest stampede that killed Mufasa in _The Lion King_ must have been having a party in his skull or something because his head _pounded_ with every beat of his heart. An attempt to move only led to a protesting, lurching stomach, and opening his eyes?

Forget it. The sun was death. Who decided the sun had to be so _bright_?

“You’re an idiot, I hope you know that.”

Dick flopped uselessly in the direction of the voice. What the hell. What was Jason doing here?

...where _was_ here? He didn’t remember making it home last night.

(In fact, he didn’t remember much after the fourth bar, but that was hardly the point.)

Dick opened his mouth again, tongue fuzzy and breath rancid enough to kill Batcow. “Jay?” he croaked.

Before he could protest, strong hands were guiding him into an upright position, and Dick, squinting against the light, blinked stupidly as a glass of water and two red pills were pushed into view.

“Don’t think, just drink,” Jason said. “You’re good at that, apparently.”

“Screw you,” Dick snapped, temper flaring.

And because he was Jason, he was utterly shameless when he responded, “Yeah, not today, Dickface. Take the meds and get your ass in the shower. You’ll feel better.”

After Dick worked up the motivation to swallow the ibuprofen and sip at his water, he started to slip into a doze. Sleep sounded great right now. So much better than the alternative.

He didn’t want to think right now.

Jason was onto him in a flash. “Oh, no you don’t,” he grumbled, and using his strength to his advantage, he manhandled Dick to his feet and forced him, stumbling, into the bathroom. Dick barely registered the sound of the water being turned on, and he squirmed when Jason began stripping him to his boxer briefs.

“Jay, I just want to go back to bed,” Dick whined, too tired to fight him.

Jason, the charmer, shoved him into the frigid water, forcing his head under. “Too bad,” was the very sympathetic comeback. Jason swung the shower curtain closed and slammed the door behind him, yelling a quick “don’t drown!” over his shoulder as he went.

Dick could have turned the water off. He could have stepped out of the shower and laid on the bathroom floor instead. Instead, he punished himself, shivering under the spray for a few minutes, muscles locked as he tried to retain heat. Eventually, the water began to warm, and Dick felt the tension drain from his body.        

And the longer he stood there, the more awake he felt. The more awake he felt...

The more he remembered.

Gut churning with something beyond nausea, Dick ruefully stepped out of his sopping underwear and began to wash up, reveling in the heat of the water now burning his skin. By the time he was done, Jason had already popped back in to leave him a fresh towel and t-shirt, some sweats, and a new toothbrush, which was awfully kind of him, considering.

Dick didn’t deserve it. 

He dressed slowly. The anti-inflammatory was beginning to work its magic, his head now throbbing at a dull beat, and though he still felt queasy, he was feeling much better, as Jason had said he would.

God. _Jason_.

What the hell _happened_ last night? He remembered the shots. He remembered _why_ he was taking those shots. He remembered staying up all night, crashing in one of his safehouses, and then going back out again the following night, still half-drunk from the night before. He remembered hitting on a few girls—and maybe a few guys too—making out and messing around a little, just to chase away the remaining darkness, unworthiness, and deep-seated fear the alcohol couldn’t touch, but for the life of him, he could not remember Jason.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think that Jason would ever step up when the situation called for it. He just never expected _Jason_ to be the one to willingly take care of his sorry ass after...

Yeah, no, he could reword it any way he wanted, but that’s _exactly_ what he thought. A lot had changed—and a lot of it for the better—but that didn’t mean he thought Jason was willing to insert himself back into the Family, and all its drama, full-time. Not like this.

So  _why_? Why was he still here?

Dick looked up into the old mirror and sighed. He spit the toothpaste from his mouth and turned the faucet off. A part of him dreaded leaving the bathroom because that meant facing his brother, but he had to, if only to thank him for making sure he didn’t stay out all night. Again. And keeping him from waking up in some random girl’s bedroom, naked and...

Shit.

Dick’s stomach cartwheeled violently, and he had to spin to the toilet. Nothing too substantial came up, indicating he’d already thrown up quite a few times, but he felt better for it.

He flushed the toilet, and without bothering to brush his hair, Dick gathered his dirty things and grit his teeth against the dread bubbling in his stomach. _Don’t be a coward, Grayson,_ he’d told himself. _It’s just Jason._

Jason, who’d had to have picked him up from whatever disgusting hole he’d been in last night. Jason, who’d stuck around, when he usually never made a habit of doing so. Jason, who’d...taken care of him.

 _Why_? Why not just pick him up and drop him off? Why _stay_?

Well, he wouldn’t know unless he took the plunge, right?

Jason was just coming back from a smoke on his balcony when Dick emerged. Dick took a moment to look him over and said in some surprise, “You look like shit.”

Jason, dressed in a holey red t-shirt and basketball shorts, quirked a brow. He was still jittery, even after his cigarette—he was supposed to be quitting, Dick remembered, and felt a little guilty because his presence in this safehouse probably wasn’t helping matters much—and his eyes were too bright, highlighted by dark smudges that spoke of one too many all-nighters.

“You’re telling me, Dickiebird? Did you take a look in the mirror this morning?”

“Funny,” Dick muttered. He shook the old clothes in his hand. “Can I...?”

Jason waved a hand and headed into the kitchenette. “Go for it.”

As his brother began banging around, Dick hunted down Jason’s ancient washer and threw his things in, dumping whatever was in the nearby laundry basket into the load too. It was the least he could do, after all.

Once the wash was started, Dick meandered back to the kitchen, where he found another glass of water and another tablet of ibuprofen waiting for him.

“I know you just took some, but I heard you retching,” Jason said without turning from the stove. “Might as well get another two-hundred milligrams in you.”

Dick slid onto one of the barstools and did just that, taking a chance and drinking the whole glass of water in one go. When he lowered the glass, he found Jason leaning against the counter, watching him.

“What?” Dick asked, unable to keep a defensive edge from his tone.

Toast popped from the toaster, and without looking, Jason put the food on a plate and slid it toward him. “If you can manage to eat that,” he said, instead of answering Dick’s question, “I might even make you an omelette too.”

Dick deflated, feeling wretched. Why was he trying to pick a fight? Jason had poor bedside manners, undoubtedly, but the tough love was what he’d needed to get him functional, and he appreciated this. He truly did.

“Thanks, Little Wing,” Dick murmured, tearing the crust off of the toast and beginning to nibble at it.

Jason only nodded and continued to sit there, watching him eat. Waiting.

Dick couldn’t handle the silence for long. “...What happened?” he asked.

“Babs called in the cavalry,” Jason said. He folded his arms, nonchalant as can be. His eyes, though, told a different story. Jason had a stare on him that was almost worse than Bruce’s, at times. “She knew you’d never call for help yourself, and we agreed the kids shouldn’t have to deal with your sorry ass.”

Dick forced a smile. _She knows_. That thought didn’t sit comfortably with him at all, and he had to put the toast down for a second. “I guess I did go a bit overboard, didn’t I?”

“A bit overboard,” Jason repeated dully. “Right.”

Twitching under that sharp gaze, Dick said, “Come on, Jason. I was just having some fun. You know what that is, right?”

He regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth. Why was he _like_ this.

Jason didn’t rise to the bait, though it looked as though it was a close call. “Are you fucking serious right now?” he asked instead. “Dick, you were a _mess_ last night, you realize that, right? You were going to hurt yourself if you kept going at the pace you were going. I’m surprised you didn’t give yourself alcohol poisoning.”

Dick opened his mouth, about to make a joke, maybe insist that it wasn’t _that bad_ , but Jason put him down before he could. “You better have something worthwhile to say or I’m going to shove that toast right down your stupid throat, I swear to _God_ , Dick.”

Dick’s smile faded, and he stood up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jason asked.

“This has been great, Jaybird, truly,” Dick said. “And you’re awesome for putting up with me, but I think I’ve overstayed my—”

Jason’s hand was on his shoulder before he could blink. “Sit your ass down. You’re not going anywhere.”

Dick was going to fight him off, but when he looked up, he saw Jason looked...truly apologetic—frustrated, even—that little furrow between his brows contradicting the harsh bite in his voice.

“I’m not judging you, okay?” Jason said. “You were really out of it last night. It kinda freaked me out. That’s all.”

Dick relented, slowly sitting back down. A small smile worked its way onto his lips. “’s not every day I get to see _you_ acting as big brother. It’s a good look for you, Jay.”

Jason scowled. “Don’t get used to it.”

And with that, Jason turned to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. His motions were agitated, choppy, clearly uncomfortable under Dick’s gaze. Dick, for his part, picked at his toast, several questions lingering at the tip of his tongue. Too ashamed, too afraid of the answers, Dick let them fester. Jason, for his part, didn’t seem any more inclined to talk than he did, so the silence between them stretched interminably.

Finally, someone gave in, and for once, it wasn’t Dick.

“This is stupid,” Jason said suddenly. Abandoning the bowl he’d been using to scramble his eggs, he turned back to Dick and said, “Look, you have two options here, Dick. We can either talk about Tarantula, or we can talk about your kid first. We’re going to talk about both regardless. Which would you like to start with?”

Dick choked, bread lodging itself in his throat. He hacked for a moment until it went down smoothly, and he looked up at Jason, whose face was an unyielding, emotionless mask. “ _What_?” he asked, voice strangled.

“You heard me,” Jason said. “Take your pick, or I’ll choose for you.”

Dick’s heart went from a gallop to a full-out sprint, every curse in every language he could speak sailing through his head in a continuous flow of inner noise and unadulterated _panic_. 

Jason was frowning at him now. It wasn’t necessarily a threatening frown. More a...maybe-I-fucked-up kind of frown. But Jason wasn’t one to linger on the consequences of his actions for long, and he opened his mouth.

Dick made his decision. “Hang on, stop. I don’t know how you even know about Tarantula,” he said, feigning disinterest. “I knew her a lifetime ago.”

Jason did not look impressed by the deflection. “Try again, Dick.”

“What do you want from me, Jason?” Dick asked instead.

“What I want...is to stage an intervention,” Jason said, “Because you said some things last night I can’t just ignore, and I know this sorry excuse for a family doesn’t talk our shit out on general principle, but I’ve always known that _never worked_ for you. Obviously, as evidenced by your spiral into self-destruction last night. So here I am. Talk.”

Dick bit his tongue, turning his burning face away. Called out by his own little brother, who’d already seen him drunk off his ass, spilling God knows what, revealing things he’d never wanted the others to know.

God, how could he have been so _stupid_.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jason’s posture relax. “Alright, I realize this is...hard. If you don’t want to talk about what happened between you two, that’s fine. You don’t have to right now. Let me...”

“Nothing happened, Jason,” Dick said forcefully. “I made a mistake and trusted her when I shouldn’t have. She did some bad things. I didn’t stop her and got stuck in an ill-advised relationship with her. We broke up. She’s in jail now. That’s it.”

Dick saw Jason latch onto the words ‘ill-advised relationship,’ red hot fury radiating from every pore on his body, but to his credit, he took a deep breath and let it go. “That’s not it,” he said. “You told me...Last night, you told me she...took advantage of you, and no, no, shit, hang on.” Dick had begun to quit the conversation, rising from his chair, and Jason held out his hands, as though he were talking to a scared victim on the streets.

“Jason...” Dick warned.

“Just listen, Dick. Please? You need to know something.”

Dick didn’t move, his horror and discomfort rooting him in place _because this couldn’t be happening to him, no one was supposed to know, he was fine_ , and Jason seemed to take that as permission to continue.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dick. I don’t need to have the sordid details to know that much. I don’t care what lies you’ve told yourself to keep yourself sane. All that matters are the facts. You said no. She raped ya anyway.” Dick flinched at the word, but Jason kept rolling. It was almost funny: the more incited Jason got, the more his Crime Alley accent crept into his words, and it would have been endearing, too, if every word he said wasn’t striking Dick with the force of Harley Quinn’s massive mallet. “There’s no sugarcoatin’ it, and there’s no excuse for what she did. Ya don’t haveta justify a damn thing, okay? _It wasn’t your fault_ , and she’s lucky I’m not inclined to hunt’r down and kill’r in’r sleep for what she did ta ya. Though ta be honest, that's totally on the table, if ya want.”

... _God._

Dick’s shoulders slumped, a fine, inescapable tremor taking control of his hands. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing, allowing Jason’s words to sink and settle.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d... _needed_ that until Jason had finished talking.

Dick thought he’d gotten over it, that he’d accepted what Catalina had done to him, but Jason had gone and slit his old wounds open, the pus they’d been collecting finally, finally draining from his body. His passionate rant had validated a truth he’d had trouble coming to terms with for years now, strengthening him, giving him a firmer grip on his memory of that time, something that’d been marred and blurred and overlooked for far, far too long.

“I’ll say it ‘til I’m blue in the face if you need me to,” Jason promised, his tone more controlled now, softer. “I don’t care if you wake me up at ass-crack o’clock because you wanna talk. I’ll listen, okay?”

Dick released a huff of a laugh, almost disbelieving. “When’d you get so good at this, Jaybird?” he asked, because that was the closest he could get to telling Jay just how much everything he just said meant to him.

Jason seemed to come back to himself, realizing how severely he’d ruined his tough-guy-I’m-too-good-for-feelings image. “...Mom was training to be a therapist,” Jason muttered, a little reluctantly. “Before she started using. Even after, we’d sometimes have our neighbors come to talk to her. They had no one else, you know? They couldn’t pay for real psychiatrists or whatever, so... I’d listen, even when I wasn’t supposed to.”

Dick had not known that about Catherine Todd, but he found himself unsurprised. She’d raised a pretty astute and compassionate kid, after all. “You know...” Dick teased, a little weakly. “I’m going to expect a lot more from you now, when it comes to the kids. They could use your brand of tough love now and then.”

“Fuck off,” Jason said flippantly, cheeks dusted with a reluctant flush.

“I mean it, Jay,” Dick said. “Thank you. I...” He swallowed. “I never meant to unload all of that on you, but...I’m glad I did. I haven’t talked about it with anyone before.”

“Yeah, well...just—”

Smirking now, Dick mocked, “Yeah, well...just...avoid the mushy part of this conversation and make your eggs, you closet softie. I’m hungry.”

“I’d imagine so,” Jason said, looking hilariously relieved to have been given an out. “When was the last time you ate, anyway?”

Dick had to consider it. “Um...when you say _ate_ , do you mean a full meal or, like, peanuts at the bar? And maybe a bite or two of someone else’s pub food?”

“You’re worse than Tim sometimes, I swear,” Jason muttered, turning on his stove. “What kind of adult are you even.”

“A bad one, apparently,” Dick agreed, his stomach roaring in agreement. Funny, how a little bit of toast could settle his nausea and have him begging for something more substantial.

“Hm,” Jason hummed. “So I’m guessing your last full meal was around the time you discovered you had a kid, right?”

Dick nearly shut down again, the tentative peace he’d found on the tail end of the last conversation draining away in the blink of an eye. “Jay, can we table this?” he begged. “One stressful conversation at a time, maybe?”

Jason spilled the eggs into the pan and looked over his shoulder at Dick. “No,” he said mercilessly. “Besides, what’s stressful about this one? See, I thought about it  _all night long_ —no thanks to your drunk ass—and I have come to the conclusion that you, Richard Grayson, overreacted.”

“Overreacted?” Dick repeated. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Does it look like I am?”

He most certainly did not look like he was kidding, and that made Dick angry. “We just established that I am a terrible adult,” Dick argued. “I can’t be a dad, Jason. I don’t...”

“Are _you_ kidding me right now?” Jason shot back at him. “What complete bull. I know you’re a dumbass at the best of times, but are you seriously going to make me lay this out for you? You practically share Damian with B!”

“That’s not the _point_ , Jason!” Dick hissed.

“Then what is it?” Jason demanded. “Is it the fact that Kori lied to you? Get in line. Or is it the fact you made a mistake? Because that’s what people _do_. You’re hardly special.”

Made a mistake? No, Mar’i wasn’t a mistake. He didn’t even know her, and it might be a little weird right now, but he knew he was going to love her more than life itself. _He_ was the mistake.

He hadn’t been there. He’d let Kori go through that alone. He’d let Mar’i grow up away from her family. He was the one who hadn’t thought to call back, to ask the real questions, to take real responsibility.

“No,” Dick tried to protest. “It’s not that...”

“You called yourself a slut last night,” Jason pointed out bitterly, and Dick withered, cursing his drunk self. It wasn’t that he thought he _was_ , it was just what others would undoubtedly start calling him, when the news broke. Better to get ahead of the press, right? To start forming that shield sooner rather than later?

“Come _on,_ Dick,” Jason was saying, clearly exasperated. “That can’t possibly be what this is about. Did you think B was a slut when Damian popped out of nowhere? Or when Stephanie got knocked up by that loser when she was sixteen?”

“Of course not!”

“Then, by that logic, neither are you!” Jason flipped the eggs smoothly. “Jesus fuck, you’re a massive idiot. You need to get over yourself. Your kid doesn’t need your shit, and not a single one of us are going to take it, either. You know the rest of the family is going to adore her, right? It's not even a question.”

Put so simply, Dick felt really, _really_ stupid. He imagined how they'd react, and it brought a grin to his face. Alfred would probably pretend to hold his stiff upper lip, hiding tears the entire time. Cass would gather Mar'i up into a hug at first opportunity and nuzzle her nose against the little one's, a wordless promise of unconditional love. Tim and Damian...they would probably be a little awkward, in very different and equally hilarious ways, but they were both so gentle with kids in the field. It would be great to see them looking after her. Duke, too, was _fun,_ all smiles and warmth.

And Bruce? Bruce's reaction was going to be _the best._

Sheepish, Dick said, “In my defense, I was drunk and throwing shit around, but thanks. I guess.”

Jason nodded. “Okay, now that that’s out of the way, I guess I should say I don’t blame you for drinking a _little_ when you found out. I packed a beer or four away myself last night.”

“Yeah,” Dick agreed a little morosely, placing his chin on his hand. “I’m...not happy with her.”

“That’s valid,” Jason said. “I’m not either. The kid’s got to be, what, at least five years old, right?”

“Seven,” Dick corrected immediately, and something warm, a glow unlike any he’d ever felt before, settled in his chest. “She’s seven.”

Jason caught the change in his tone and turned again to give him a strange look. “Alright, seven. That means Kori was on my team when Mar’i was still in diapers. How did she manage to keep it from _all_ of us?”

Dick’s entire expression darkened. “She spent the pregnancy on Tamaran. The Tamaraneans have a shorter gestation period than humans do, so she was there and back before anyone here realized.”

Jason’s lips pulled into a snarl. “Shitty thing to do. Who raised Mar’i?”

“Blackfire, apparently. And her husband.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. Star insists she’s mellowed out, but...I just...”

“So she trusted her half-whacko sister over you...and yet she named the kid after your dead mother?” Jason summarized. “That’s messed up, man.”

Barking a laugh, Dick ran his hand through his drying hair. “And here we see why I needed copious amounts of alcohol to deal with it.”

Jason was silent for a moment. “Why did she decide to tell you now?”

It felt nice, to tell another person, and as Dick recalled the plans he’d made with Kori two days ago, a belated sense of awe and excitement began to rise. At the time he’d spoken with her, he’d been numb, a barrier put in place to prevent him from feeling _too much_.

Now the dam had burst.

“Initially, Star wanted Mar’i to grow up away from Earth because...well, Earth’s kind of the epicenter of a multiversal _shitstorm,_  as you're well aware,and Tamaran’s at peace right now. It’s _safe_ , and I...can see why she chose to keep her away, even if it hurts. ‘Course, Mar’i’s apparently started asking questions about why she’s so different from the other kids on Tamaran, and Kori couldn’t keep it quiet any longer—that she’s got a human father. So...Mar’i’s coming to Earth in a few weeks. I’m meeting her, and then Kori and I will go from there.”

“...Wow,” Jason said, and that single word appropriately encompassed Dick’s current opinion of the matter. He pulled his skillet from the fire and slid a plain omelette onto a fresh plate. He offered it to Dick and said, “Well, congrats, I guess.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, and it felt genuine. “I’m...I’m still processing, but...”

“For what it’s worth,” Jason said, “You may suck at being an adult, but you’re a half decent brother. I bet you’ll make a half decent dad too.”

Dick _beamed_ , and reaching over his food to ruffle Jason’s hair, he said, “Like I said, I’m going to expect a lot more from you now, Uncle Jay.”

And at that moment, nothing could touch him. Nothing could bother him. It was worth every second of his shitty hangover to see Jason’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and it was worth even more, to have shared this moment with Jason at all.

Dick still had healing to do. He still had some anger and shame to iron out, but at least he wasn’t alone.

He’d never been alone, and it’d taken a good kick in the pants from Jason to finally realize it.


End file.
